


Reciprocation

by ToxicPineapple



Series: Kaemaki Week 2020 [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (Not really an argument), Akamatsu Kaede has depression and you can fight me on this, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Angst and Fluff, Crying, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I'm gonna be sad now, Kaemaki Week, Kaemaki Week 2020, Look sometimes when ur depressed, You wake up, and then your body says, anyway, implied depression, late-night conversations, mild argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: In the silence, while Maki waits for Kaede’s reply, she rubs her thumb back and forth over the side of Kaede’s hand. Feels every dip and curve in the soft skin. She’s familiar with Kaede’s hands, in a way she’s unfamiliar with almost every other part of her, because beyond holding them, like she is now, Maki’s felt those hands everywhere; tracing the side of her face, rubbing up and down her back, curling around her waist. She’s felt them tucked underneath her thighs and squeezing her shoulders, she’s felt them cupping her cheeks and lifting her jaw, she’s felt them in her hair and clasped behind her neck.She’s watched them, too, dancing across ivory keys, and she’s admired endlessly their dexterity, their skill. Maki has a fascination with Kaede’s hands, which are always so steady; even now, when the rest of her shakes, Kaede’s hands are still upon the keys. If there’s a part of her that Kaede can trust, it would be her hands.---Maki wakes up in the middle of the night, and finds her girlfriend crying over the piano.---Kaemaki week day two: Laugh/Cry
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki
Series: Kaemaki Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821460
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	Reciprocation

**Author's Note:**

> written for kaemaki week day two! the prompt was laugh/cry

Maki wakes up to the sound of piano music, and to the sensation of cold, due in part to the fact that her blanket is half off of her, and in part to the fact that the space next to her on the bed is empty. Cool, as though Kaede hasn’t been in it for some time now. This isn’t so unusual; in fact, it would be a bit weird if Maki  _ didn’t  _ wake up in the middle of the night to some classical song drifting in from her bedroom. She’s about to roll over and go back to sleep, on the grounds that she can hear Kaede playing the piano any time and doesn’t particularly care to get out of bed right now, but.

The abrupt stop in the music, the long pause that follows it… they’re both a bit weird. And Maki isn’t all that warm under here anyway, what with the cool spot beside her and the blankets in disarray as they are, so if she’s going to get up, she might as well do so now. Sighing, Maki closes her eyes and sits herself up, shuffling to the edge of the bed and swinging her legs over the side. As Maki feels around the nightstand for a scrunchie, she wiggles her toes in the fibers of the carpet. Something to rouse herself a little bit better.

She yawns as she gathers her hair into a loose ponytail. Ties it out of her face. Then she finds a thin blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around herself, getting to her feet and slipping out of the bedroom. Despite the lack of piano music to lead her on her way, Maki doesn’t have to open her eyes all that wide to find her girlfriend. They’ve been living in this house for four years, and the journey from the bedroom to the piano is a familiar one. Maki knows she’s close when the carpet underfoot turns into hardwood, and the space is flooded with silvery moonlight. Reluctantly, she blinks her eyes open all the way, rolling her shoulders back as her gaze sweeps the space.

Kaede is sitting at the piano, her fingers splayed across the keys, one of her feet resting on the pedals. Her head is tilted, blonde locks of hair covering her face like curtains, her forehead resting against the instrument. Maki can’t see her expression from here; couldn’t, regardless, because her hair’s all in the way, but from the way her shoulders shake, and the soft hitches in her breath, loud in the silence, it’s… not much of a secret, why Kaede’s piano playing stopped, all of a sudden.

She’s shivering, Maki notices. It’s chilly in here.

Maki makes her way over on silent feet, one of her hands moving back to pull the scrunchie from her own hair, the other reaching out to gather Kaede’s, delicately tying it back from her face. Kaede shudders at the touch, and hums, a hoarse contralto, but Maki doesn’t reply. Even with the dim light streaming in through the curtains, the red of the scrunchie provides a stark contrast against Kaede’s blonde hair, her pale skin. This, tying back someone else’s hair, this is familiar to Maki. It reminds her of days at the orphanage, before everything got complicated, when she would brush and braid back the hair of all the younger girls with mismatched hair ties.

It’s different tying back Kaede’s hair, though. For a number of reasons. But mainly… well. Maki didn’t feel for the orphans in the way she feels for Kaede. That isn’t to say she loves them any less, it’s just… conceptualising herself as an older sister type figure for her girlfriend has… weird, implications.

And that’s not relevant at all to the current situation, so Maki’s not even sure why she’s thinking it. Maki’s hands are stilled in Kaede’s hair, but she hasn’t removed them; one rests on the scrunchie, and the other is draped loosely over her shoulder, the tips of her fingers brushing against Kaede’s neck. From this position Maki can hear every little hitch in Kaede’s breath, every sob that’s muffled by her lips, pressed together as Maki imagines they are. Can feel every single shift, every shiver. Every slight movement.

Wordlessly, Maki slips onto the bench next to Kaede, tugs the blanket off from her shoulders and wraps half of it around Kaede’s. The bench is cold and hard and it digs into the underside of Maki’s bare legs. She’s not supposed to sit on it full-on as she is, probably. Piano benches are meant to be perched upon. It’s better for your posture. That’s probably why this is so uncomfortable. Even now, with her hands so still, Kaede is sitting on the edge of it, her back straight, like any minute now she could burst into music.

She might even. She’s been known to do so in the past.

Strangely, Maki doesn’t think she will. Not by the way tears are making tracks down her face. Have been for the past five minutes that Maki’s been sitting here. Probably longer than that, even, Maki just wasn’t around to see them then.

Maki breathes out, and reaches out one of her hands to rest over Kaede’s. It’s cold, right now, but as smooth and soft as ever, and Maki intertwines their fingers from behind. Kaede reciprocates, despite everything, and it coaxes a half-smile to Maki’s face; she squeezes Kaede’s hand.

“So what’s wrong, then?” she asks, quietly, tilting her head to rest it against Kaede’s shoulder. She feels Kaede relaxing a little bit, though noticeably the tears don’t slow in their paths, and there’s a long moment where Kaede doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a sound.

It’s fine, though. Maki doesn’t care to push it.

In the silence, while Maki waits for Kaede’s reply, she rubs her thumb back and forth over the side of Kaede’s hand. Feels every dip and curve in the soft skin. She’s familiar with Kaede’s hands, in a way she’s unfamiliar with almost every other part of her, because beyond holding them, like she is now, Maki’s felt those hands everywhere; tracing the side of her face, rubbing up and down her back, curling around her waist. She’s felt them tucked underneath her thighs and squeezing her shoulders, she’s felt them cupping her cheeks and lifting her jaw, she’s felt them in her hair and clasped behind her neck.

She’s watched them, too, dancing across ivory keys, and she’s admired endlessly their dexterity, their skill. Maki has a fascination with Kaede’s hands, which are always so steady; even now, when the rest of her shakes, Kaede’s hands are still upon the keys. If there’s a part of her that Kaede can trust, it would be her hands.

Not in the way that Maki trusts her hands, to have her back, to keep her safe. Not in the way that Maki can pick up a gun and automatically load it, not in the way that Maki’s hands are tough and scarred and familiar in their hideousness. Kaede trusts her hands to heal, to create, to love. And that’s all they’ve ever done, around Maki. In four years living together, and three years dating before that, Kaede’s hands have never once even twitched in anger, not with Maki. There was a time, once, a long time ago, when Maki was sick and they were walking back home, and they got jumped by a mugger, and before Maki’s head was even on straight, Kaede had clocked him in the jaw and sent him staggering away.

It was a nice thing to see, and remains a nice thing to remember, that Kaede’s hands, which Maki trusts so dearly,  _ could  _ be used in that way, but never would. Not against Maki.

The hitches in Kaede’s breath slow after a while, and eventually peter out, and then they’re sitting there silently, and when Maki glances over, Kaede’s plum eyes are glossy, but not bright. There are no more tears making their way down her face. Despite this, Maki lifts her free hand to wipe away the ones that linger, the ones that still rest on the curve of her cheeks, that didn’t drip off her chin and into her lap. It gets a smile out of Kaede, she thinks. Not one of her typical, warm, radiant smiles, but the edges of her lips quirk, and her gaze shifts over to meet Maki’s, something soft flickering behind it.

Quietly, Kaede replies, “I’m not sure?” and the way her voice lilts at the end makes Maki raise her eyebrows, though only slightly. An imperceptible tilt. She knows the feeling, of not knowing exactly why you’re upset, of crying for hours merely because you feel the need to, but it’s Kaede’s uncertainty that makes her curious. “I,” she laughs slightly, her gaze withdrawing, her brow furrowing just a touch. “I woke up really sad, and I’m not sure why, and then I blinked and I was here playing the piano, but then I was crying so hard I just couldn’t continue. Sorry,” she adds, and Maki frowns, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’ve woken me plenty of times for less important things,” Maki replies, and she shifts her hand from Kaede’s cheek to her brow, using her thumb to smooth out the crease. “I don’t care,” she reiterates, at the guilty look that Kaede shoots her. “I have tomorrow off. It’s not like I have anywhere to be in the morning. And I don’t like you crying out here alone while I sleep all night.”

“It wouldn’t bother me if you did,” Kaede says, breathily.

“But it would bother me,” Maki retorts, a tad sharply, and when Kaede winces, she sighs, shifting her hand to awkwardly cup Kaede’s cheek. Even after seven years, these gestures are foreign, unfamiliar. At least now she’s familiar with where to place her fingers so they brush against Kaede’s ear, and how to run her thumb underneath Kaede’s eye to best catch all the tears that might fall. Not that Kaede is crying, right now, but in the past, Maki has fumbled, and fumbled again, and she’s still fumbling now, if the sharpness of her tone a second ago is any indication. “I’m saying it’s fine, Kaede. You don’t have to worry about waking me up. I like waking up and hearing you playing the piano.”

“That’s one thing,” Kaede whispers, and Maki thinks,  _ why are we arguing over this?  _ “If you wake up and hear me playing you can just roll back over and fall asleep, right? But you probably thought that something was wrong, and that’s why you got up.”

“I might’ve gotten up anyway,” Maki says.

“Would you?”

And the answer to that is no; if she hadn’t thought something might be wrong, if Kaede had just kept playing, like she would on any other night, Maki probably would’ve just… gone back to sleep. But it’s… mmm. Maki doesn’t know how to articulate to Kaede that this isn’t, that doesn’t mean that she’s, mmmmm.

Kaede seems to take her silence as an answer. “So, I’m sorry. This is stupid. It’s not like I actually have anything to be crying over, anyway. If I hadn’t--”

“You’re acting like your being sad is an inconvenience to me,” Maki remarks, quietly, and Kaede blinks at her. “Just because I got up when I wouldn’t have usually, that doesn’t mean you’re causing me any problems, or you have anything to apologise for. If you had something to say sorry for, I’d tell you. I think after seven years I can handle that.” Maki shifts her hand to brush Kaede’s bangs out of her eyes, wrinkling her nose a little bit. “I’d rather be awake. That’s why I’m here. I could have just kept sleeping. You didn’t make me get up, I chose to. So you have nothing to say sorry for.”

For a moment, it seems as though Kaede is going to argue; she opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, looking sticken, even in the flickering moonlight, but then she just leans closer, touching her forehead against Maki’s, and murmurs something. It’s mostly incomprehensible, but Maki thinks maybe what Kaede says is,  _ I love you. _

(Which would require reciprocation, only Maki isn’t entirely sure if she actually said it, so she’s… hmmm. Proceeding from here is a bit complicated. She can’t just let the sentiment hang in the air, though, if it is indeed what Kaede said. After a moment, Maki decides to just mumble, “I love  _ you,”  _ and based on the incredulous smile that opens up Kaede’s expression, the little laugh that bubbles from her lips, eh, maybe she was wrong.

But Maki would much rather see her laugh than see her cry, so.)

**Author's Note:**

> rhnrhnghrh girlfriends


End file.
